


Training A Falcon

by Higuchimon



Series: Confusing [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Advent Calendar 2015, Dice Gods Challenge, Diversity Writing Challenge, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Imprisonment, mental torment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higuchimon/pseuds/Higuchimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Splintered, bending, not broken, not yet.  Spending days being trained and taught to obey, but not a slave, not a pet, not theirs in any way.  He will fight in his own way but he will not fight his best friend, in any form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.  
 **Fandom:** Yu-Gi-Oh Arc-V  
 **Title:** Training A Falcon  
 **Characters:** Shun, Yuuri (Yuuto of a sort)  
 **Friendship:** Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Word Count:** chapter: 1,620||story: 1,620  
 **Genre:** Angst, Drama|| **Rated:** PG-13  
 **Challenge:** Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, section G6, three-shot; Written for the 2015 Advent Challenge, day #14, write about anything; Written for the Dice Gods Challenge, random friendship, Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Note:** I don't know if I'll write the backstory to how Shun got into this or not. It basically just hit my brain when the prompt was offered.  
 **Summary:** Splintered, bending, not broken, not yet. Spending days being trained and taught to obey, but not a slave, not a pet, not theirs in any way. He will fight in his own way but he will not fight his best friend, in any form.

* * *

He couldn't see anything. This was not surprising. His jailers only allowed him sight on certain occasions. During training was the most frequent of those, or dueling. But dueling was training and training involved dueling, to many extents. Not always, but enough so that he tensed for his deck whenever a training session drew near. 

One would come soon. He could feel it in his bones. They weren't regular; nothing in his life was regular except pain when he didn't do well enough. He would suffer that gladly, though, because he hated those who held him and hated the thought of doing anything that pleased them on any level. 

But sometimes he did anyway. He couldn’t help himself. And whenever he did, he was not only praised, but rewarded, usually with a ceasing of pain and sometimes even with the addition of pleasure, such as the soft warmth of sunlight, or a few minutes to walk without being chained. 

He hated that his standards for pleasure had fallen that low. But what choice did he have? A single mistake, caught at the wrong time, and a decision made by those who took him not to make a card of him. Why, he didn't know. He only could guess that they felt making him their attack beast was a far worse fate. 

They weren't wrong. He kept on fighting, nevertheless, until he had no strength to fight anymore, and then he kept on anyway. There would be freedom one day. As he’d fought to regain those who had fallen before him, those who he'd left behind would fight to find him. He couldn't doubt it. He wouldn't doubt it. He _didn't_ doubt it. 

And yet how long had it been? How long since he'd seen a face that he knew and liked, or at least didn't hate? How long since he'd heard a voice that wasn't delivering an order of some kind? He didn't know anymore. Long. Very long. Weeks? Months? Something like that. 

Surely not years. If he'd resisted them for years, they would've given it up as a bad job already, thrown him into a card, and let it be done. So, weeks or months. 

That was the only assurance that he had. It wasn't much, but he took what he could get. 

Pinpricks of pain ran all through his legs. The eternal warning; someone was coming. He struggled to his feet. They always wanted him ready to go as soon as his trainer arrived. He was always warned with time enough to get up, if he put effort into it. 

Something else that he hated, but he ended up doing anyway: being ready when they wanted him. He’d tried to ignore them before. The pain wasn't worth the effort. They knew just how to hurt him the most. 

The door slid open. He kept his eyes closed; the light that spilled in from it was always far too bright. They did that on purpose, he thought. That way if he somehow manage to get out of here - hadn't he once? He thought he had - then he couldn’t escape anyway because he could hardly see in the light. 

"Come on out, Kurosaki." His name. Part of his name. He had to struggle to remember the rest of it: Shun, that was it. Shun. He was Kurosaki Shun. He hadn't heard it in so long that remembering it took an act of will. 

Even as he fought to recall his name he moved at the voice's command. He knew who it was, the one that he hated most of them all. Hated him the most because of who he looked like, who he should never have looked like, because there was only one Yuuto and how dare this _Yuuri_ have his face, even if he didn't have his voice or his hair or act anything like him? 

Keeping his eyes as closed as he could to avoid the light-blindness, he came to the door. He didn't need to see Yuuri to know the expression on his face: the same one he always wore, mild contempt and smugness. 

Once he'd fought every time he saw Yuuri. That face infuriated him as he'd never thought anything could. Yuuri not only was a better fighter than he was in general, but Yuuri fought dirty. Shun ended every single fight on the ground, in pain from one or more extremities. Now he kept his anger confined to dirty looks whenever he could manage them and told himself it was enough. 

It really wasn't. But until he could do better, it was what he did. 

Yuuri said nothing else, but turned and walked away. Shun followed without needing to be told. He wondered if today's training would be dueling or something else. He was learning how to fight better here. He would make them regret teaching him. Yuuri was, as always, first on his mental list of who he would beat when the time came. He would just have to take him by surprise. 

"We have a special training session for you today," Yuuri said as they came to the large double doors that marked where Shun spent most of his time when out of his cell. "I think you're going to enjoy it." He didn't know how to smile very well, but he tried. Shun wished that he wouldn't. 

"Why?" He hated their rule that he only speak when spoken to, beaten into him over the last weeks. He was not a slave. He was not their slave. But the silence was hard to break when there was so seldom anyone to talk to anyway. 

Yuuri gestured toward the door. "Go find out." 

Shun mentally shrugged. He had nothing else that he could do. The doors slid open as he moved over to them, revealing the darkness beyond. His training room was always dark when he first entered. The light would grow gradually as he spent time there, letting his eyes adjust. 

This room was even more his than the cell was. The cell had only bare stone walls and bare stone floor and bare stone ceiling and a door with no window in it. There were small slits in the very top, far out of his reach, that let air go in and out, but nothing beyond that. 

Here in the training room, he could fight and not be punished, not unless he failed. Here he dueled, and so long as he did his best, all was well. Here he fought and learned and savaged and waited for the day when he would be able to turn all of this on those who kept him captive. 

He was not their killer hawk. He would never be. But he would kill _them_ and their last regrets would be giving him claws to strike with. 

The doors slid shut behind him. Complete darkness wrapped around and he enjoyed it . He moved forward, sure of his footing, until one outstretched hand touched upon a table. Duel disk? Or other weapons? 

Other weapons today, dull-edged swords. This wasn't the first time he'd wielded these in here and he picked them up easily. He'd been told that when he was out in the field for real, the blades would have edges. That had given Shun many a sweet fantasy to dream of. 

A whoosh of light, and Shun moved at once, slamming the sword into the training dummy outlined by a spotlight a short reach away from him. Another one appeared, more hidden in the shadows, but Shun hit that one easily enough as well. 

The lights danced around, giving his 'opponents' cover but not him. Shun still struck true, dodging when he could. Other lights struck through the darkness and he fought to avoid them. He knew the rules; if those hit him, it counted as an injury. He would feel it too; they were the same kind of holograms that were used in dueling. Not enough to cause damage, but enough so that he would know he'd been hit. 

Some of them did hit, but never in a place where he couldn't shrug it off. He dodged under one that would've officially 'beheaded' him, and found his blood racing. Each of the beams set against him was connected to one of the dummies. He found the one for that one and struck it down. 

A few moments of silence and shadows. Shun took the chance to rest while he could. They were changing something; this had happened before. What this time? 

another light. Another strike. Now he could see what it was, and he faltered, just for a moment. 

No longer a blank training dummy, but the image of one of his fellow resistance members, one that he knew had fallen a week or so before his own capture. Was this no longer a dummy? Had they somehow revived him? 

Shun dared not take the chance. He knew the punishment for failing during training. His blade connected with the dummy just as it had with all the others. Still just a false thing of stuff. 

He shrugged off the anger that slid through his veins that they dare do this. He could have expected nothing less. They would want him to fight his comrades, but these were only false copies. They meant nothing at all to him. 

He kept on fighting. He made a point to remember each of his comrades when he saw their copied version and longed for the day when they'd all stand together again, triumphant against everything. 

Another one behind him. He whirled, saw who it was, and froze on the spot. No. It could not be. 

_Yuuto?_

**To Be Continued**

**Note:** Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it if at all possible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.  
 **Fandom:** Yu-Gi-Oh Arc-V  
 **Title:** Training A Falcon  
 **Characters:** Shun, Yuuri (Yuuto of a sort)  
 **Friendship:** Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Word Count:** chapter: 1,651||story: 3,271  
 **Genre:** Angst, Drama|| **Rated:** PG-13  
 **Challenge:** Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, section G6, three-shot; Written for the 2015 Advent Challenge, day #14, write about anything; Written for the Dice Gods Challenge, random friendship, Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Note:** I don't know if I'll write the backstory to how Shun got into this or not. It basically just hit my brain when the prompt was offered.  
 **Summary:** Splintered, bending, not broken, not yet. Spending days being trained and taught to obey, but not a slave, not a pet, not theirs in any way. He will fight in his own way but he will not fight his best friend, in any form.

* * *

In every respect, the training dummy – and Shun knew that was what it had to be – resembled Yuuto, aside from breathing. Already he'd taken down a half dozen or better copies of his other Resistance allies. On some level he knew that this shouldn't have bothered him any more than they had. Just a copy, just a stuffed thing, nothing more. 

It wasn't Yuuto. It couldn't be Yuuto at all. And yet his muscles refused to move. He could do little more than blink, baffled as he'd never found himself. 

“Kill him.” Yuuri's voice rang throughout the training room. “Kill him, Kurosaki.” 

He didn't remind Shun of the perils of failure. Shun knew them; they'd been etched into his bones over the last weeks. He could be allowed chances to fail, but never very many, and never without some punishment along the way, to remind him that he was allowed this only by the gracious will of his captors. 

“No.” Shun flexed his hands and let his dull blades fall to the floor, not caring what was done to him because of this. “I won't.” 

Silence. He'd resisted before. He tensed himself, waiting, expecting. 

“Why not?” Yuuri did not sound annoyed, but just a fraction of curiosity. “It's nothing but a dummy, Kurosaki. Representing an enemy.” 

Shun spat in rage. “Yuuto is _not_ my enemy! Yuuto will never be my enemy! This is just more of your _training_!” There weren't any words that expressed how much he hated all of this. As dulled and lifeless as he felt in his cell, here his blood and his fury ran through him, and he let it reign free. 

“Of course it is. You are a weapon in our hands, Kurosaki,” Yuuri said, his voice not having changed a bit. “A weapon must not turn against those who would use it.” 

“I am _not a weapon_.” Shun wished with all of his proud heart that Yuuri, or just anyone from Academia, would appear in front of him, just so he could do something _violent_ to them. Preferably Yuuri, who dared to share Yuuto's face. 

“But you are. What else could you be? You are dead or you are our weapon. We choose to use you as a weapon. You should be grateful.” Yuuri sounded as if he meant that. Shun shook his head even more, and was not surprised when he was ignored. “Now, pick up your sword and finish the job here.” 

Shun planted his feet, arms over his chest. “No.” It didn't matter what they did to him. No matter what they did to him, he would not lift a hand against Yuuto. They'd sparred together in the past, friendly duels before dueling became death, and matches of physical skills meant to keep them alive after that, but never with the risk of death between them. That was all it would ever be. 

He expected pain. They'd done something to him; he could not guess at what it was. There was nothing on him that was unusual or out of place, no collar or leash. But when they desired it, he knew pain, to whatever degree they chose for him to know it. It didn't matter where he was or what was going on. They hurt him as they pleased. 

The doors slid open and Yuuri entered. He did not look pleased, but Shun could never remember a point when Yuuri _was_ pleased about anything. He liked it that way. It meant he'd maintained defiance of some small amount. 

But he also knew this was his last chance. For whatever reason, they weren't jumping straight into a punishment. 

Or Yuuri _was_ the punishment. He was the level above pain, the level that meant Shun had reached a new level of angering his captors. 

The sound of Yuuri's boots echoed faintly back from the gray steel walls. Shun did not move but stared resolutely into the face of his nightmares. Yuuri came to stand in front of him, eyes cold and remote. 

“You think that you have a choice in what you do now, Kurosaki?” Yuuri asked, voice as cold as his eyes. “You are ours. Do we need to prove that to you again?” Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head a tiny fraction. “You've been doing so well until now. We'd rather not have to resort to more drastic measures.” 

Shun said nothing, but the idea of what could be worse sent faint chills sweeping through him. 

“You say that he is your friend.” Yuuri stalked around to where the stuffed replica stood, so silent, so unlike and so like Yuuto. 

Shun wasn't certain if he thought that of the stuffed copy or of Yuuri. It certainly was true of both of them. “Of course he's my friend.” He'd known Yuuto for years. They'd lived only a pair of houses away from one another, before the war struck, attended the same school, dueled against one another before school and after it, dreamed of going into the Pros together, perhaps as a tag team, perhaps not. A friend to last for the ages… 

“Would you like to remember that he is your friend?” Yuuri cocked his head, those frozen eyes staring at Shun. “Because if what stands in the way of you doing as you're told is the memory of your friend, we can change that.” 

The idea that Shun could not think of Yuuto as his friend, could not _remember_ Yuuto, sickened him to the point he stepped back, looking for the blade now more to use it against Yuuri than anything else. 

But now Yuuri's foot rested on the sword, keeping it away from him. For all that Yuuri wasn't that much taller than Yuuto, Shun knew how strong he was, and how difficult, if not impossible, it would be to move him off of there. 

“Those are your options, Kurosaki. Either you destroy this replica now and every time we set it against you, or any image of your former friend and other allies, or we will remove your memory of knowing them at all.” A cold smirk hovered over Yuuri's lips. “That's not all we could change. Memories are very easy to manipulate if you know how, and we know how. You can remember being one of us for your entire life, living in that former dimension only to gather information for us. You can be one of us in every possible way.” 

Shun hadn't ever been more grateful that he hadn't eaten recently. To be so completely changed that he wouldn't be the person that he recognized as Kurosaki Shun made him sick to his stomach. 

“You won't do it.” He was not suggesting it as an option. He was telling them. He would not allow it. He would not fight Yuuto and he would not allow them to change his memories and mind. 

Yuuri smiled still. “How do you plan to stop us? We can do whatever we want to the people that we want or need. Don't you understand that yet? You are a weapon, a tool: a very useful tool and one that needs honing and training. This is just another method of that. Your defiance has been _amusing_ but that's all it is. If you cease to be useful like this, then we will remake you until you _are_ useful. Until you are the warrior that we want you to be.” 

Shun had watched horror movies before. He'd never imagined that he would live in one, with a threat like that hovering over his head. But he did not falter. 

“Change my memories if you think you can. But you will not have _me_ , and I will never, ever fight Yuuto.” 

Yuuri said nothing at all for a few moments. Then he smiled. “You think we care about having a victory over you, making you do what we want. And you are somewhat correct. But if becoming what we want you to be means changing you from who you are, then that is what we will _do_.” He leaned forward the smallest fraction. “Your obedience is what we will have.” 

He flicked one hand toward the door. “Training is over for today. We will do this again later. And next time, you _will_ do as you are told.” 

Shun didn't believe that he would. But he did believe that Yuuri would do all that he could to force him to obey. 

* * *

Yuuri locked the door behind Kurosaki once he'd entered his cell. There would be nothing there to stimulate the prisoner in any way that they didn't want. And there was far more in there than Kurosaki realized. While it all looked and felt like bare stone, that was only in the places where Kurosaki could see and touch, and only when he was capable of seeing and touching. 

The air vents could let things in as well as out, such as a gentle gas that encouraged sleep. Kurosaki was far more vulnerable than he imagined himself to be. The gas slowly filled the room as it did every time after one of the training sessions. It wasn't just to give Kurosaki a good night's sleep. He was much more malleable when he wasn't awake. 

Yuuri came to the observation room where he spent at least some portion of his time watching Kurosaki, usually during his training sessions or other important times. Kurosaki had sunk down to his knees, breathing in, unaware of how watched he was. 

It was Yuuri's idea for them to convert him instead of just making him a card. He'd seen how well Kurosaki could duel. He wanted that strength on their side, even if he did use a substandard summoning method. 

Yuuri seldom wanted things. But when he did, he would do whatever he had to in order to have them. Kurosaki Shun was no exception. 

**To Be Continued**

**Note:** Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you thought of it if at all possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.  
 **Fandom:** Yu-Gi-Oh Arc-V  
 **Title:** Training A Falcon  
 **Characters:** Shun, Yuuri (Yuuto of a sort)  
 **Friendship:** Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Word Count:** chapter: 1,729||story: 5,000  
 **Genre:** Angst, Drama|| **Rated:** PG-13  
 **Challenge:** Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, section G6, three-shot; Written for the 2015 Advent Challenge, day #14, write about anything; Written for the Dice Gods Challenge, random friendship, Shun  & Yuuto  
 **Note:** I don't know if I'll write the backstory to how Shun got into this or not. It basically just hit my brain when the prompt was offered.  
 **Summary:** Splintered, bending, not broken, not yet. Spending days being trained and taught to obey, but not a slave, not a pet, not theirs in any way. He will fight in his own way but he will not fight his best friend, in any form.

* * *

The door to his room slid open. Kurosaki already stood facing it. He'd somewhat hoped that today would pass without training. His head throbbed more than he could ever remember it throbbing in his entire life and his mouth tasted dry and full of fluff. 

But his wishes were not the wishes of Academia, and that meant they were not granted. Yuuri stood in the doorway. He said nothing at all, only caught Kurosaki's eye, then turned and began to walk away. Kurosaki fell into his proper place at once, two steps behind him, silent as Yuuri's own shadow. 

Neither of them said a word as they walked through the corridors to Kurosaki's training room. Kurosaki had nothing to say. He would train. He would learn. He would become a weapon for Academia. It was what he existed for. 

A nearly crippling slash of pain blasted across his mind and he stumbled, legs trembling. He paused only for a moment to get his bearings, and saw Yuuri looking back at him, one eyebrow ever so slightly cocked upward. 

“I'm fine,” he replied to the unasked question. Yuuri still said nothing at all, just waited. For a moment, Kurosaki thought that he saw a smile on Yuuri's lips, but if it was there, it vanished too quickly for him to be sure of its existence at all. 

Yuuri had been known to smile before, and often at the pain of others. He was… he was…. 

Another pulse of pain shot through him, nearly sending him to the floor this time. Yuuri moved forward. 

“If you're not well, we'll go to the infirmary instead.” 

Kurosaki shook his head, waving off Yuuri's solicitous arm. “No. I can do this.” 

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring every thought except that one: he could do this. He could accomplish his training. He was not a failure. He would be a success. 

It only took one more corridor to reach his training room. The doors slid open and he entered without another word. Yuuri came in with him; that wasn't so unusual, not when he had had troubles like this. It wasn't the first time. Kurosaki worried it would not be the last. 

He suffered from these headaches more than he liked. He couldn't remember when they'd started, only that they sometimes prostrated him with pain to the point he couldn't see anything. That was why his room was the way it was, always dark and cool, with only a cot for him to rest on. 

He didn't need anything else, anyway. His deck was provided when he needed it, food brought when necessary, all of his needs met. And why should they not be? He was of Academia, and they took care of their own. 

Training began. First a duel against Yuuri, which he came within a hair's breadth of winning. He vaguely recalled time in the XYZ dimension, where he'd found his Raid Raptors. While they were not of Academia standards, he worked well with them, and he could be useful using them on other missions. No one would think a warrior of Academia would use them, after all. 

He wasn't surprised that Yuuri won, though. Yuuri _was_ the best warrior that Academia had to offer. Kurosaki could not remember learning this. He'd never needed to. It simply was a fact of life, such as he himself being a warrior. Perhaps second best, forever striving to be as good at what he did as Yuuri. 

Yuuri was special, though. Kurosaki could not recall what made him so and seldom gave it thought, but it was true all the same. Yuuri would likely always be better than he was. But he could live with that. There weren't any others who were that good. Dennis came close, but he spent too much time wanting to be an entertainer. 

A low thread of fury slid through his thoughts at the vaguest concept of Dennis and entertaining, but then it was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. 

“Kurosaki?” Yuuri asked, one eyebrow faintly tilted upward. Kurosaki shrugged. 

“A passing thought.” Nothing at all to worry about. It had happened before and it never amounted to anything. 

But now on to the next phase of his training. Yuuri remained with him, watching, clearly pleased with his efforts, and that made Kurosaki work all the harder. Pleasing Yuuri meant _so much_ to him. They were f-friends… 

His mind stumbled over the word, even as he swung his dulled blade into yet another batch of stuffed dummies. Representatives of the Resistance, he'd been told, most of whom had already been defeated. They meant nothing to him, their names hollow callings in his thoughts, gone before he could even think to remember them. 

He recovered himself quickly. He did not want Yuuri angry at him and when he faltered, Yuuri _did_ get angry. He swung again and again, until sweat streaked all over, and he ached from head to foot. 

Light for one of the other dummies moved behind him and he turned, dull sword already heading that way, with every intent to decapitate this one. Even if he didn't fight them hand to hand on a real battlefield, he would be ready to do so if the occasion arose. That was the point of training, to be ready for every eventuality. 

His muscles locked into place without warning as he saw the dummy there. He stared at it, confused and dismayed. 

_Yuuri?_

No, it wasn't Yuuri. But it wore Yuuri's face, and the hair was different and the outfit as well. It wore one of the red scarves of the Resistance – his free hand drifted to his bare neck, his conscious mind not even realizing it – and it stared at him as if he were the sum of all that the original person hated. 

“Kurosaki.” Yuuri moved up closer to him, eyes narrowed, threads of anger weaving into his voice now. “What is the matter?” 

Kurosaki slowly shook his head, trying to move and not understanding why his body wouldn't let him. “I don't know. It looks… it looks too much like you?” That wasn't the answer. He knew it and Yuuri knew it and he _knew_ that Yuuri knew it. 

But Yuuri only kept looking at him, subtle fury in his expression. “It's not me. Take it out.” 

Again he tried. Again his body would not do it. He could step back easily enough; that his body did almost gladly. But when it came to striking, he just couldn't. He wanted to. He wanted to make Yuuri proud of him. Yuuri being proud of him was even better than the Professor being proud of him. And yet he could _not_. 

“Kurosaki.” A warning edge. His chances were slipping away. It had to be done. 

He drew a harsh breath in, one that shredded parts of him he couldn't remember having. His heart? Why would his heart care? He was a dedicated warrior to the Academia. This was only a copy of a lookalike of Yuuri. This was just… 

He raised the blade. 

He started to bring it down with all of his might. 

_Yuuto_! 

He breathed the word out a heartbeat after it rang across his mind and the blade curved to the side, aiming for that bastard, that mindbender, that sadist who had listened to him scream and _enjoyed_ it, and wanted to hear more of it, and actually looked disappointed when Shun's screams _stopped_. 

Yuuri stepped to the side and brought one hand down against the taller duelist's head with all of his strength. Shun stumbled, legs unsteady. He'd worked out hard already and while he had more stamina than he had at one point, Yuuri knew where to hit to disable him. 

Shun almost didn't realize when he was disarmed, the blade now pointing at his own throat. Dull it might be, but that didn't mean it couldn't still kill. Yuuri stared down at him blankly. 

“You were doing so well, Kurosaki. I thought you'd finally learned your lessons.” He shook his head. “That just means there's more work to be done on you.” 

Shun breathed in harder, eyes darting from one side to the other. He needed to escape from Yuuri. He needed to get out of this place before whatever they did to his memory flared up again. Yuuri smiled down at him. 

“You haven't escaped us. This is only a temporary setback and not a very difficult one to deal with.” 

Shun shook his head, finding a twist of a smile on his lips. “I told you once already. I won't hurt Yuuto. There's nothing that you can do that will make me hurt him.” 

Yuuri reached down and grabbed him by the shoulder, pinching a nerve that sent shocks of pain all through Shun. “You are going to be very surprised at what we can do to you. And what we _will_ do to you.” The darkest, sweetest of smiles burned across his features. “And what you'll do for us once we're done.” 

His grip shifted, pinching harder somewhere else, and Shun's last sight was of Yuuri staring down at him. 

* * *

_How can they have a bond this strong?_ Yuuri could not wrap his mind around this. He would've killed Dennis in a heartbeat if he'd needed to. He preferred not to; Dennis amused him too much. But he would still do it if there wasn't another choice. 

Kurosaki had no other choices and he still refused, suffering repeated punishment rather than lift a hand or weapon against his 'dear friend'. 

From that moment on, Yuuri made up his mind. Kurosaki would be his. Kurosaki would do whatever Yuuri told him to do, and do it gladly, and he wanted this for one reason: to take away something that his lookalike treasured. To break this bond between them and twist it to his own uses. 

Besides, Dennis couldn't be there all the time. He needed someone to watch his back now and then. Kurosaki would be perfect for the job, once tamed properly. 

And Yuuri had a very good idea of just how to do that. If Kurosaki's loyalty remained fastened to the person he knew from childhood, then Yuuri would have to become that person. 

Or at least, Kurosaki would believe that he was. 

**The End**

**Note:** Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed the story. Please let me know what you thought of it if at all possible. 

**Note 2:** Yes, I think I will write more in this world one day. Yuuri is such a wonderful sadist cabbage and I am having so much fun with this concept.


End file.
